Hello and Goodbye
by Stranger
Summary: They were never supposed to meet again, she, assumed dead, and he, world weary, found each other one last time. PG13 for a death and implied violence.


Author's Note: This is just a little thing I wrote up, playing with the future of Harry Potter and Company.  
  
Disclaimer: This characters aren't mine, I'm just borrowing them for the moment. I'll return them only after I've horribly scarred them for life.  
  
Rating: PG13, for character death and implied violence.  
  
***  
  
  
Hello and Goodbye  
by Rhi  
  
  
  
***  
  
Faces. So many faces.  
  
He clutches his cup, feebly trying to make conversation with the prattling witches. Can't they tell he wants nothing to do with them, nothing to do with this entire occasion?  
  
A particularily persistant witch sidles up to him, all curves and smiles. He watches, without his usual amusement when regarding the females in pursuit. Tonight he wishes for a divine intervention-- rain or even a well placed poltergheist. Anything, really, to make these pidgeons leave him alone.  
  
Grimacing at the wine, which is a little too strong for his tastes, he glaces, annoyed at the witch, who throws him a toothy grin.  
  
Isn't there a single person whom he remembers?  
  
***  
  
She giggles from behind her hand, a lace glove masking the bitten ragged nails. The blond man beside her, laughs, pale eyes gleaming with malice. She doesn't understand what it is that the man is implying, but she knows the backside of his hand well enough to know silence means trouble.  
  
"Ah yes, the magnificient Harry Potter, taking to drink." The man drawls. "It's depressing to watch that thing drag on and on. One would wish he'd finish the job off, instead of sulking around and leeching all the women."  
  
Confused, she looks up at him. Why does that name sound so familiar?  
  
***  
  
Harry Potter once was the greatest wizard of all.  
  
Once is the key term, however. Now, he is a middleaged wizard with the beginning of a belly and a hint of whitening hair around the ears.  
  
"It could have all worked out." He thinks bitterly, ignoring the unpleasent slosh of the bad wine in his throat.  
  
It could have worked out, indeed, but for those little details. Like Death Eaters, for instance. And hostages.  
  
Harry Potter once fought the climax battle against Voldemort. Once upon a time, Harry Potter was bold and reckless, daring and handsome, carrying out the orders of Dumbledore and punishing the Death Eaters and their master. But something went horribly awry.  
  
He can still remember it-- the screams of his dearest friends, the laughs of a black-cloaked multitude, the glittering amber eyes of a pale man, the strong voice calling, "Confoundus!" over and over again, until a delicate woman, a child really, collapses, the dagger sliding out of her freckled hand. As the woman child slumps before the throne of Voldemort, waves of laughter crash against the walls of what used to be known as the Great Hall of Hogwarts, which is now nothing more than a meeting place for the sinners which title themselves the Death Eaters.  
  
Again, he sips the odious wine into his mouth, cursing himself for drinking, but unable to stop.  
  
He scans the room, Draco Malfoy, the unapposed head Death Eater, stands with a bird boned woman with flame colored hair, curling his thin lips.  
  
Staring, he peers closer at the woman. His voice, hoarse and deep, utters a single word.  
  
"Ginny?"  
  
***  
  
She turns, not fully comphrending why. That voice, although new and strange, reverberates in her head and interconnects, a missing part of a large, unfinished puzzle. It's a voice she's heard before. She tries to put name to it, but description dances maddeningly away from her.  
  
A man, unkept in appearance, rushes towards her, calling, "Ginny! Ginny!"  
  
She stands, dully wondering if a curtsy is in order, but to her amazement, he sweeps her off the floor, still crying, "Ginny!"  
  
The pale man beside her turns red. "You," he hisses. "You will not interfere with my plans this time."  
  
At last, recognition reaches her eyes. Memory can be blocked, but never truly erased. "Harry?" she whispers.  
  
They hold each other in a gaze, two pairs of green eyes locked together, oblivious to the snarls emanating from the pale man.  
  
It is too much. The blond man sweeps out his wand, "Avada Kedavra."  
  
There is a flash of acid light, it races toward the couple, engulfes them in it's fatal caress.  
  
And for them it is enough.  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The end  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Well, what did you think? I just wanted to write a random story where Harry was old and depressed, and the Dark Side had won. It is not a happy story. 


End file.
